The Holly and the Ivy
by Tsona
Summary: ATTN: Fluff lovers! A Christmas gift to you all. Draco's Christmas Eve wedding. Chapter 2 now up: Sirius meets some people he hadn't expected to. NOT slash. D/OC, S/OC, G/H, R/Hr, et al.
1. Marriage

_A/N: Hello, my dear readers. Here, as a late holiday present to you, I present to you a story that has been floating about my head for some time, one very near and dear to me. Alas, but I'm only writing a section of it (I was even going to write more, but it's been too long and I NEED to get you a present this year). A few notes of background before I allow you to enjoy your Christmas present, please. First off, J. K. Rowling and I reached a parting of the ways with the publication of book 5. The experiences of her Draco are not the experiences of mine (whose story so far consists of Death Eaters Don't Cry; Tapestries Tear; and And Then There Were Nine and the one-shot Reindeer Pause, which comes after this one chronologically). His relationship to Alana is pretty much recounted in TT and Pause. Also, because of this severance, there are certain events which never took place, primarily deaths, but I doubt any of you will complain about that. Nonetheless, whether you are familiar with the history or not (I assure you it can be read without, or maybe rather, reading the other works won't really give you all the information you need yet anyway), I hope you appreciate the sweetness of this ficlet nonetheless. In sum, I tell you to enjoy._

_Yours forever, Tsona_

Alana reached out and lay a gentle hand, be-ringed, upon Draco's arm. A shiver of pure elation shot through him, making each invisible hair stand straight as an arrow shaft, at her warm brush. The glow of her joy eradicated the winter chill that crept in through the doors of the church, flung open onto the December night. Unable to contain himself, Draco glanced down at her, beaming, with love, yes, but with a selfless pride that was perfectly un-Malfoyish, too.

She was stunning. Her white satin gown offered life to her already roseate face, as did the cold draft; she could have been a carnation in tissue paper ready to be gifted. Her dark eyes twinkled with the radiance of gems. The perfume of the single white rose amid the bouquet of homegrown holly sprigs she clung to wafted upward about her, making them both giddy. Classy though it was, the ensemble was simple-- simple, Draco recalled, because, she said, the holiday celebrated a god's humble birth and He was to be emulated for what He underwent for Man.

Alana eased herself onto tiptoes in her heeled shoes and placed a soft kiss upon his cold cheek. As she drew back to meet his questioning but not accusatory glance, she whispered, "You look like nice, too, Draco."

He accepted the compliment with a smile and she turned her attention to the peopled pews of the church. Draco followed her gaze. The Weasleys' bright heads were prominent among the throng. Only Percy had failed to show, something for which Draco was half-thankful. Alana's mother sat listening in silence to Molly's hushed prattle, bringing another grin to Draco's lips. He had so feared Mrs. O'Toule would refuse her permission and shatter this moment for them. But the smile she had flashed him as she had paused to embrace her daughter was sincere. Neville had found a seat beside Ginny Weasley. Draco was reminded just how very like her mother she was, looking at them; their gestures and the tilt of their heads were much the same. Draco was certain if Ginny had not been so engaged in her own conversation, she would have cringed to note the likenesses. Arthur and Bill, his gilded fang earring glinting warmly in the candlelight, chuckled at some story George was relating to them. George was wearing a knitted hat with earflaps, Draco knew, to hide the gaping hole where his left ear ought to have been and which might upset the Muggle priest. Bill's heavily scarred face looked not at all intimidating full of laughter.

In the next pew up, Hermione and Ron sat alone, both still with glowing faces, Ron still looking sheepish, as if he had been caught stealing some priceless treasure. They were holding hands, Draco knew, and needed no more to communicate fluently. _Will we look like that soon?_

"Harry!"

Absorbed in his observations, Draco had failed to hear the distinctive loping plod of Harry's too large boots. Even years later, liberated from the hand-me-downs of his cousin, he still chose clothes that didn't fit. He slunk into the church with his shoulders drawn in against the cold, a horridly orange Chudley Canons scarf slung about his neck. He grinned at the greeting and went over to grasp Alana's hands briefly in his stubbornly unmittened ones; he only ever wore gloves in Quidditch matches anymore, claiming that anything softer than the leather eased his calluses so that it would become painful to play. He murmured a brief, "How are you?" to which Alana, too rushed away on her own emotions, could not reply, before he turned to Draco.

They looked at one another a moment before each moved simultaneously to pull the other into a rough, brotherly hug that made Alana giggle girlishly, too long the proponent of just such a gesture.

"I guess it's your turn next, eh, mate?" Draco ribbed as they broke apart.

"I'll need a girl first. But I have to say," he cast Alana a glowing look, with rascally glittering eyes, "you may have found a contest here that I can't beat you in."

Alana colored, but Draco, grinning back in like manner, cast an eye into the church, murmuring, "I don't know."

Harry actually laughed aloud, his joyous peal ringing in the stone narthex. "Don't you start playing matchmaker for me, Draco Malfoy. I might just have to leave your fiancée a widow before she's married. In no seriousness, of course," he added quickly with a nod to Alana, who pouted and stuck out her tongue at him so that her elegant ensemble became a girl's play costume.

"I do hate to interrupt such a touching display of youth."

The drawling sneer froze Draco's blood more thoroughly than the winter chill ever could.

Harry, never one to panic when confronted, turned with crossed arms to this new actor in the tableau. Eyes narrowed, he countered with a very hard, "What are you doing here?"

"Can a man no longer come to his only son's marriage ceremony?"

Draco shut his eyes against the deliberate clicking of the man's heels, his breathing coming shallowly, only vaguely aware of Alana's hand tightening on his arm. As the tattoo came to a halt, however, he could not resist cracking an eyelid to peek.

"Hello, Draco."

Lucius Malfoy stood before him, swathed in his usual, fully black ensemble, hardly appropriate for a wedding, even one Draco was sure he couldn't celebrate. He was resting a gloved hand upon his serpent-headed cane. Draco feared his father must have seen how his eyes went first to the heavy, fanged ornament.

"I must say," Lucius continued lazily as he drew off a dragonhide glove and fell to examining his immaculately kept fingernails, "that I was surprised not even to have been notified of this union, that I had to get my information secondhand. Most embarrassing for me, Draco."

Draco was trembling faintly and could feel the sweat rising to the surface. "You disowned me," he petitioned. "I hardly thought it would matter. I didn't think you would care."

"Disowned or not, you are still the sole heir to the Malfoy name and it'll be your blood and your --" he cast Alana a cold glower "-- _wife_ that shall continue it. In that respect, I want a say."

"Please, sir," Alana interrupted, stepping forward a bit. Draco tried to grab her back. "My name is Alana O'Toule and--"

"I know who you are, girl. Don't think me so uninformed, just because I didn't hear anything from you."

Draco cast his eyes out into the crowd once more. Who would possibly have contacted his father? Alana had, in truth, petitioned Draco to tell his parents about their intended marriage, but he had refused and she had eventually caved into his obstinacy. His eyes fell on Professor Snape, looking highly uncomfortable, as he always did in social situations, and sitting by himself. Draco had been honored that he had agreed to come at all, but now....

"My informant," Lucius sneered, as if following Draco's thoughts, "could not come. But he tells me to inform you he will be in contact soon. He wants to meet your chosen bride."

Draco nodded numbly. His mind had begun to process a second possibility. A pale face rose from the darkness of obscurity. But.... Draco tried desperately to read the Dark Lord's mood from his father's expression, but could not in the face of marble.

"Well, then," Lucius continued, perhaps reading the shocked horror in his son's face and knowing that his message had been correctly interpreted, "if any of you have any more to say, speak now, or forever hold your peace." He emphasized the last phrase lightly, his eyes fixed upon Draco's, allowing the words to spiral, drilling themselves into Draco's mind. He cast one more cool eye over Alana. Her slight recoil was enough to draw a sneer from her soon-to-be father-in-law, who nodded briefly to Draco and strode off into the church on sharp heels to a back pew. Draco half wished God were not so slow to vengeance.

"Ooh, I hate that man!" Harry spat. "Sorry, Draco."

Draco shook his head mutely, still numb.

"The way he looked at me... it was like _knives_! Do you think he'll do anything, Draco?"

"No," Draco assured her promptly, turning her away from the sanctuary. He spoke with more confidence than he felt and didn't think the sight of Lucius Malfoy sitting comfortably in the pew would help restore his peace.

"If he does," Harry offered, "I'll squash him."

Draco tried to conceal a smile and ran the back of his fingers along the smooth plane of Alana's cheek, looking into her dark eyes. "This is love," he whispered to her. "He can't mess with that."

"I hope you're right."

"I am." He lay his lips against hers, drawing from them the rush of heat and strength that had sustained him through these last few years. Her hands crept up to encircle his neck and drag him further down. "I am." She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling again with warmth.

"All right," Harry murmured uncomfortably. "I, erm, think I'll just... go sit." Alana and Draco laughed. Harry paused in the doorway of the church to say, "Try and control yourselves until after the ceremony, eh?"

"No promises," Draco laughed, but Harry nodded, apparently aware that this was the best he was going to get, and retreated into the chapel.

As he did, the bells began to peal over the silent earth, calling the people into the church.

Alana looked up. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth formed a silent, "Oh." She appeared young, a child full of wonder, and Draco, filled with love for her and for the innocence she possessed, slipped his hand into hers.

"It's 'The Holly and the Ivy.' One of my favorite carols. It sounds pretty on the bells."

Draco nodded, not really having comprehended her sentence, having been too busy perusing her face, but ready to agree to anything she said, and brushed her cheek again. "Are you ready?"

Alana turned her attention away from the ceiling to gaze at him. In silence, she nodded. "I've been ready."

Smiling, Draco led her to stand in the doorway of the church and, as the silvery chimes faded away, the silence was filled by the piping of the organ. Alana wrapped her hand around his arm, and he, to support her, placed his hand upon hers.

What tune the organist played, Draco was never really aware. He floated more than walked between the pews of the church, as if borne on the fragrance of the pine garlands and wreaths, of the flickering candles that leant a vibrant orange glow to Alana's cheeks, and the rose that trembled in her clenched hands. He was never truly aware of much but the softness of her grasp on his arm, of the sense of her beside him. The altar, draped in a snowy brocade, drew nearer and the priest, garbed in matching robes, smiled at them as they approached. He felt Alana draw him slowly down onto his knees and did not resist. Her head bent forward, her tawny hair falling down over her shoulders to dangle as a gold lace veil across her face. Uncertain, he copied her gesture and the priest lay a hand upon his head and hers.

"God, bless these, Your children. Guide them as they enter tonight into the union that can best emulate the fullness of peace and love that we shall experience upon Your return. Keep them from the ways of the wicked. In Your name, O God --"

"Amen," chorused the congregation.

"Amen," Draco recited, late.

Alana tipped him a smile through the loose strands of her hair as she raised her head, and rocked back onto her heels, drawing him upward and back so that they stood below the priest as he looked out upon the crowd.

"Love," the man pronounced with a paternal smile as he glanced down upon Draco and Alana, standing silent and attentive, clasping hands. "It has been said to conquer all." Draco's eyes flicked sideways with a grin to land on Dumbledore, chuckling and looking very much out of place in a bright purple suit; for all he had done to better wizards' relations to Muggles, he had never been able to blend in among their society. "The Lord Himself declared Love to be His Name and blessed marriage as the holiest of institutions when He drew Eve forth from the side of Adam. Yet, we must be careful," the priest warned, "not to forget that the union of a man and woman, however blessed and joyous, is but a shadow of the union we will all one day have with God should we not falter in the path of righteousness. The role of husband and wife is not merely to bring pleasure to one another--" there was an awkward titter from the congregation "--oh no. Husband and wife have a second, ultimately more important task: to prevent one's partner from straying from the way of God. It is always better for a spat to occur than to allow one's partner to lose sight of the Kingdom of Heaven.

"It is in this task that true love manifests itself, for true love can survive the Devil's every temptation, the weighty task that God assigns to those He bonds together.

"Alana and Draco, I am led to understand, have already faced a number of obstacles, and surmounted them, the one helping the other. I have every faith that, if God has seen fit to draw these two souls together, they will continue to withstand the Devil's tricks. Yet, I do not know these two as well as I should like."

Draco chanced a glance into the priest's face. The sermon had taken on the tone of a charge and his eyes implored the crowd to truth. Draco was sure he knew what was coming and bit his lip in anticipation.

"If any of you should know of any reason why these two should not be joined together, one mind and one body, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Perhaps Alana noticed his anxiety because her hand tightened on his, almost certainly meant as a reassuring squeeze, but it betrayed her own tension. Like Draco, she was surely recalling Lucius Malfoy's veiled threat and was preparing to hear the slow, arrogant drawl echo through the waiting congregation, through the silence broken only by women's sobs, Draco thought perhaps Molly's and Mrs. O'Toule's.

But the dissent never came.

The priest continued, a smile shining on his face. "Are you ready?" he asked in whisper, his eyes on the couple below him.

Draco and Alana nodded, relieved.

The priest returned it with one of his own, then told the congregation, "Alana and Draco have chosen to write their own vows to one another. Draco, if perhaps you'd like to go first?"

Draco nodded and took a deep breath before turning to face Alana. She was more radiant than he had ever seen her, her eyes shining in her rosy face, waiting, patient. Emotion threatened for a moment to take hold of him, but he swallowed it down before it could render him speechless. "Alana," he said, taking both her hands in his, "I hardly knew where to begin this. There's so much I need to tell you, and it was only the thought that I'll have a lifetime to say it all that allowed me to even write this.

"You have been there for me. You came to me at I time when I most needed a friend, when no one else would. You stood by me, through... through everything." Looking into her eyes, his well-prepared speech was rushing from his head, all of his mind filling instead with her image, with the gentleness of her fingers in his hands, the way the candlelight caught on her hair, spinning it into gold. "You-- you are the only person I've ever been able to share everything with, the only one I never kept secrets from. I trust you as I've never trusted anyone else. And-- and, losing you, being away from you for so long--" His hand traveled up her arm and came to rest against her cheek. "It only taught me how much I need you. And I won't forget that lesson. Each moment, every day, I'll always be thankful for you-- for all you've taught me, for-- for-- _everything_." There was more he wanted to say, but the immensity of it all finally overwhelmed him, tied his tongue. He was forced to drop his eyes and shake his head in silence, signaling her to go on as his hand dropped and he bit back the tears that dampened his eyes. His father would likely kill him if he saw.

In the silence of the hall, Alana's hand reached up to cup his cheek and turned his head upward. A finger strayed upward and brushed back the wetness from his eyes. Her own glistened as well, moved by his speech. She swooped upon him to lay a fortifying kiss on his cheek. Then, her hand found his again, holding it tight, before she fumbled into her own choked vow.

"Draco Malfoy, I--" She took a great gasp of a breath and Draco got the sense that she was trying to keep her voice steady, to remember the oration she had composed, fighting the same battle he had. "You," she tried again, her voice low, a murmur that broke over him with all the gentleness of an ocean wave's last, frothy sough. "There is so much of you that other's don't see, that I'm not even sure you can see. You're humble-- yes, humble," she added, catching his quirk. "You're brave, so brave. You're gentle and you're strong. There's an inner strength in you that I love, an unquenchable flame that has been too often cooped up. You feel everything with your whole heart, which I love though I know you think that a weakness. You have such a strong sense of what's right, and you won't back down from it under any circumstance, will fight for it. I know you're not... perfect," she blushed pink as Draco tipped her another, acknowledging smile, "but whenever I look at you," she drew a shuddering breath, "I only see my knight in shining armor, the one I've dreamed of since... forever.... I can't imagine anyone better, any better man to give my heart, my life, my... _everything_ to."

Draco returned the pressure of her hand, knowing she'd understand the gesture of thanks, of reassurance, of love. Her wobbly smile assured him she'd received his message.

"Then," the priest beamed over the crowd, "do you, Draco Alexander, take Alana Kathryn to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold? In sickness and health? For richer or poorer?"

"I do," Draco proclaimed, the assertion confident. His eyes were locked on Alana's, which were glimmering again. She gave a small sniff.

"And do you, Alana Kathryn, take Draco Alexander to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold? In sickness and in health? For richer or poorer?"

"I do," Alana quavered, clearly holding back a sob.

"You have the rings?"

Draco nodded and withdrew a small, black velvet case from his pocket. Smiling, he gently took Alana's hand in his own and she obliged him by spreading her fingers, so that the golden band slid easily onto her left ring finger. Alana spared him a smile and removed the second ring from the box. As she slid the band about Draco's hand, she leaned forward to whisper, "What does it say?"

The engraved runes were darkly shadowed in the dim light of the candles. "I'll tell you later," he assured her.

"Then, in God's Name, I pronounce you husband and wife-- what was the phrase you used?-- bonded for life." There was an appreciative, murmuring laugh from the throng at this familiar phrase thrown into the homily. "May you treat each other with respect and walk together toward the Gates of Heaven." It seemed an attempt to wrest the ceremony back into a language he understood. He didn't seem to be able to resist this last plea, this last reminder of whom he served, but the crowd, the bride and groom were waiting for another announcement. "You may now kiss the bride," the priest told Draco, giving him a gentle smile.

Draco answered him with a broad grin, then returning to Alana, wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her nearer so that she quavered in his embrace. Her lips were parted slightly, waiting, ready, but he stalled the caress for a moment to murmur formally, his eyes locked on hers, in a voice that would only reach her ears, "Mrs. Alana Malfoy." Her trembling lips received his with a fierce flash of fire that flared inside the two of them, melding the two bodies together as the circle of the arms tightened around the other, a melding of spirits and of bodies.

Draco was only vaguely aware of the answering applause from the congregation; of the heavy sobbing that was not quite drowned in the acclamation; of the pealing of the bells overhead, tolling midnight. They drew apart to regard their friends, their families as the chimes faded away. Ron and Hermione seemed to have been unable to resist reliving their own first kiss as husband and wife. They were still locked in one another's arms, Hermione sobbing into Ron's sweatered chest. Bill was standing behind them, looking a little lonely; Fleur had been obliged to remain at home with young Cédric and Victoire, though she had sent along her and the children's congratulations. Tonks was beside him, nearly jumping in her jubilation, her spiky hair a cheerful bubble-gum pink; Lupin was home with Teddy. Molly and Mrs. O'Toule had broken down completely and were weeping openly, clinging to each other. Mr. Ollivander, applauding as loudly as anyone, stood beside his wife and daughter, Kari, with her date. Harry was beaming up at them; he gave Draco a thumbs-up, which he returned with a grin, his thumbs being too deeply entwined in Alana's hand to imitate the gesture and very happy to remain there. Only one person didn't look thrilled at the union.

Lucius Malfoy sat alone in a pew near the rear of the church. He dropped his eyes to the floor as he saw Draco's gaze move in his direction. A niggling question jumped into Draco's mind, but he ignored it as Alana began to steer him back down the aisle, still hand in hand, this time not as fiancés, but rather as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.

They passed beaming faces, the feeling of joy like a fire's warmth around them. Though their procession was slow, unhurried until the last few steps which they took at a run, the crowd passed in a flash of vicarious euphoria, a blur of riotous, warm color. It was a relief to break out into the open air of the church stoop. Draco grabbed Alana about the waist, the satin of her gown riding up to cosset his fingers, and twirled her about in the cool December air, before dropping her gently onto the iron handrail, where she perched like a bird, beaming, proud.

She bent forward and wrapped a hand around his neck, drawing him closer, and lowered her lips onto his, a warm blossoming of passion that spread to the very tips of his fingers as they curled in her hair. Alana broke away from him, grinning kittenishly, satisfied. Something cold landed on his cheek. He wondered vaguely whether he had begun to cry.

Alana reached out with a white finger and brushed the droplet away, leaving instead the warm imprint of her caress. "Snow," she breathed.

Her eyelashes were lowered to veil her glowing eyes and, sure enough, white, lacy flakes fell and clung to them, tangled in her loose, tawny hair.

"The promise of renewal, the wiping off of the slate," he muttered, touching her rosy cheek, running the bare backs of his fingers along the smooth plane.

"Yes," she cooed, nestling into the caress.

"_Tabula rasa_," a curt voice behind Draco corrected.

Draco turned, the chill of disquiet stealing into his veins. His father's expression would have been more appropriate for a funeral, solemn, grim, and white as death in the cold air. Flakes of snow stood out vividly on his dark suit.

"Did those tutors teach you nothing?" he spat.

"They did," Draco assured him. His fists clenched at his side, his shoulders tensed, but he kept his voice level. "_Tabula rasa_ refers to the mind at birth, free of preconceived notions. I still have to carry around your baggage." The last bit escaped him in a hiss of venom.

His father frowned and took a few steps forward. Draco moved between him and Alana.

"Peace, boy. I've not come to hurt the girl."

"I can't be sure," Draco reminded him, though his shoulders did drop an inch from their tense sentinel.

"I've only come to fulfill my duty as father of the groom. Give me a moment and then, with luck, you'll never need to see me again."

"Let's hope," Draco agreed darkly.

His father reached beneath his cape and withdrew a mokeskin, drawstring bag. Prizing it open, he reached in. Draco braced himself, but his father only withdrew a small, dark portrait, the size of a postage stamp, which grew larger as it hit the open air.

"It is a tradition going back centuries," Lucius Malfoy recited, his tone ceremonial, "that some heirloom of the Malfoy family be passed to whomever enters into it by marriage. It is hoped this heirloom will remind that person of the grandeur of the family that they have contracted themselves to." The formality dropped from his voice and Draco could almost have sworn that the December chill hung icicles on his next words. "Since I discovered your plans to wed, I have scoured the house for something _worthy_ of this connection. Most of our family's possessions seemed far too grand to be besmirched by you. Ultimately, I decided upon this."

He withdrew his wand and prodded the painting. Its occupant gave a grunting snore and cried, "Whassamatter? Where'm I?" As he leaned forward in his winged armchair, light fell more fully upon him. He was clearly a Malfoy, with a pale, pointed face and high cheekbones. His elegant clothes looked to be from the later half of nineteenth century and his blonde hair, liberally and regally streaked with silver, was tied back with a ribbon so that his tired, blue eyes were unmasked. They blinked as they found Lucius, who held the painting with the tips of his fingers, once again swathed in dragonhide, and looked quite revolted. "Ah, Lucius. Come for me at last!"

"Hello, Father."

Draco started and stared at the man in the painting, who was still glaring at his son, his blue eyes icy. "Grandfather?"

"What's that?" The man's eyes swiveled round to find Draco. His gaze was critical. "You'll be Lucius' son, then? The boy Lucius felt it was so important I never taint with my ideas of camaraderie with Muggle-borns that he killed me to prevent it?"

Draco felt his jaw drop. He'd never heard this.

"Killed?" Alana repeated weakly. Draco felt her hand clamp on his shoulder, whether to give or seek comfort he couldn't be sure.

Draco's grandfather turned to regard her, a little suspiciously. "Who's this, then? _She's_ not a Malfoy."

"Actually," Lucius murmured, "she is. Draco is newly married. And you," Lucius added, extending his hand, with the portrait in it, toward Draco, "are the heirloom I'm giving to her."

"Your... your ancestor?" Alana asked, uncertainly. "Your own father?"

"It does seem slightly unorthodox," Draco's grandfather opined. "I seem to recall giving your Narcissa a diamond necklace of your mother's."

"What better reminder of the family than an ancestor? Take him," Lucius declared. "I don't want him."

"_That_," the painted man snarled, "is obvious." He turned a softer gaze upon Draco. "Well, boy, if you're not planning on locking me away in a dusty, dark high tower room, I consent to come."

"Without legs, I don't very well see what you could do about it anyway," Lucius sneered. He shook the outstretched painting at Draco, who took it with a look of alarm, fearing for the health of its occupant, who had toppled off his chair with the violence of the quake.

"We haven't got a tower--" Draco muttered as his grandfather stood and dusted himself off with all the dignity he could muster.

"Actually, I don't think we have anything," Alana interrupted with a small laugh.

Draco bit his lip. "You're welcome to come with us, though, wherever we do go," he tried cordially. Alana murmured her agreement.

"Well, that's settled." Lucius tried to wipe his gloved hands off on the edge of his traveling cloak, as though the portrait's wooden frame had somehow contaminated him. He did not say so much as a "goodbye," as he strode off into the night, turning on the spot several feet away and Disapparating with a small _pop_.

Draco stared at the spot, his fingers so tightly clenched on the wooden frame that he wondered if he'd have splinters when he finally put the painting down. He could still see the whirl of his father's cloak, as an afterimage, a pall of darker black against the darkness of the night.

"Draco?"

"Forget about him, boy," the painting commanded. "He isn't worth anyone's time or effort. I should know, I wasted twenty-five years on him."

Draco glanced down into the blue eyes. Their coldness had vanished to be replaced by a sad resignation. "I'm sorry," Draco murmured.

The old man gave a snort. "For what? You think you could have stopped your own conception?"

Draco didn't quite know how to respond to this.

"Take my advice, Draco. You put him from your mind and go enjoy that new wife of yours. I'll just sit here quietly and avert my eyes."

Draco gave him a grin. "Mind a jacket pocket?"

The man heaved a great sigh, his painted chest billowing with the rush of wind. "Get on with it, then. At least I've got the fresh air to look forward to afterward."

Draco shrank the painting until it slipped easily into his tuxedo, then turned to grasp Alana's hands as the church doors expelled the remainder of their wedding party, all of whom looked far more glad of the union than his father had. They offered their congratulations, wrung the bride's and groom's hands, gave kisses, hugs, and thumps upon the back. Even Mrs. O'Toule deigned to throw her arms around her new son-in-law before vanishing into the night with a watery, "Happy Christmas!"

Molly, one of the last to leave the sanctuary, took both of their hands in hers and said, "Now, Draco, you be gentle with her. It always hurts a bit the first time and--"

"Molly," Draco groaned, cutting her off. "Do we really need to discuss this _now_?"

"Well, I hardly expect you'll give me too much longer."

"I know what to do, Molly."

She frowned slightly; Draco knew she didn't approve of these libertine aspects to his past. "Fine," she conceded. "You two just go off and enjoy yourselves tonight. You'll be over in the morning, won't you? For Christmas?"

"Of course, Molly. We wouldn't miss it."

She gave him a beaming smile, patted his hand absently and disappeared into the night like the others.

Alone at last in front of the silent, empty church, Draco was able to turn his full attention back to Alana, who asked in a jaunty voice that failed to hide her flicker of excited nerves, "Well, where do we go? It doesn't sound as if Molly expects you back at the Burrow tonight. We could go to one of the inns, I suppose? The Three Broomsticks? The Leaky Cauldron? I've heard the Hog's Head's no good, though."

She was prattling on and Draco knew no better way to stop her jabber than with a kiss. Her lips gave way to the gentle pull of his, stilled their racing pace to enjoy the slow meander. "I've a better idea," he told her, coy.

He took her hand and she slid off of the iron railing into his waiting arms. He led her into the darkness, out of the shadow of the church, the warm glow of the porch lights. Their feet were noiseless in the thin blanket of new snow.

"Take my arm."

Alana did as she was instructed, but asked, her voice a flirtatious purr, "Where are you taking me, Draco?"

A thrill passed through him and he closed his hand over hers, gently as if she were sugar-spun, liable to disintegrate beneath his shivering touch. "You'll see."

He stepped forward into a spin. She turned with him and they were pulled up into the crushing blackness of Apparation.

The cold rush of December air was a relief after the suffocating tube. Draco took a grateful breath and then declared, "We're here."

Alana was already looking around. They had landed in the middle of a deserted cul-de-sac, the blacktop fleecy with snow, some of the airy flakes still eddying in the air, fleeing their sudden arrival. It was an ordinary place. The few houses were dark, their windows empty at this late hour.

"Where's here?" Alana asked, puzzled.

"Chelmsford. In lower Essex."

"And why are we here?"

Draco turned her so that she faced one of the cottages. Like the others, it was dark. The snow was like a dusting of powdered sugar on the wisteria vine that clung to the porch roof. Frost glazed its empty windows. Yet, it was to a sign out front that Draco pointed, a metal board swinging from the arm of a post. The dimness of the moon through the clouds overhead was just enough to allow them to read the words stamped across it: "SALE PENDING."

Alana spun to face him in a gasp. "Draco! You didn't!"

"I did," he proclaimed proudly.

"But, we can't afford--"

"Actually," he cut in, "we can. Would you like to look around?"

Her eyes were wide so that they caught the faint glow around them. "You're sure? I don't want to if we can't, if we'll have to give it up."

"I'm sure." He steered her into the yard and up the barely visible path through the gardens. Alana's heels clacked across the bare wood of the verandah and Draco extracted the key from his pocket. He fitted it into the lock and the door swung open to reveal the dim interior.

"Do you want me to carry you over the threshold?"

Alana blinked. "Do you want to? Are you strong enough?"

"It's tradition." Without any further discussion, he bent and hooked his arms around her waist and beneath her knees. They bent as he lifted her off the ground and her arms found his neck. She buried her face in his shoulder as he walked with her in his arms through the door. It was only once they were well inside the vestibule that he placed her gently back on the ground. She gave him a warm smile of thanks before beginning of her perusal of the place. A staircase in front of them led to the upper storey; it matched the dark, worn wood of the foyer. The sitting room was off to their left; Draco considerately raised his wand and lit a fire in the grate so she could have a better view; its light leant a soft glow to the warm, red wine color of the walls, played on the cottons and shining leather of the furniture, glinted off the wide bay window. Another room opened beyond this one, but it was too dark to make out its function.

"Do you want a tour?" He led her through the living room. The next room turned out to be a kitchen, a cheery yellow in the light of Draco's wand, with a sliding glass door leading out onto a patio. A small breakfast table dominated the center of the room. A single, lonely chair stood beside it.

"Who's house is this, anyway?" Alana wondered. "Or, whose was it before you bought it?"

"It belongs to a lovely, elderly woman. A Muggle. She's been feeling it was time to move nearer her family; she's lonely here by herself. She says the neighborhood's very quiet. Just a few families, though several do have children."

He led her toward the next room, this one a dark, satiny blue. A larger, darkly stained table stood here, though it did not appear to have been used for supper for a long while; it was stacked high with papers, with skeins of yarns and extra sets of knitting needles. A row of blue sateen curtains hung to the floor on the left. "Windows that look out onto the backyard. A huge backyard. A kid could really enjoy himself out there."

Alana gave him a glowing look and squeezed his hand. She'd always wanted children. "Where's this old lady friend of yours now?"

"Visiting her family for the holiday." A door on their right led out into a narrow hallway. The next room over proved to be a small, lavender bathroom. "She'll be there till the New Year and she's given us permission to stay here in her absence. A sort of trial run, to be sure we really like it."

Across the way, another door opened onto a step, but the room was too dark to view. Alana reached around the doorway and with a small click, light flared in several sconces around the room. It was a sort of office area, lacking windows and very dusty, as though it hadn't been used for several years. The wall of bookcases was woefully empty and what books were left had the ill-used look of a tome many have thumbed through and none have found interesting. The desk was too organized. "It used to belong to her husband," Draco explained. "I haven't been in here before; she won't enter it."

He stepped slowly onto the dust-embedded rug. "Shame. It's a fine room. It'd make a nice library."

"You know," said a male voice, "it's highly annoying to hear about this new place of yours and not be able to see it."

Draco started. He'd forgotten the portrait in his pocket. He quickly withdrew the minute frame and spoke to the man as it resumed its usual size. "Sorry, Grandfather."

The man was looking about with interest. "It is a fine room," he commented. "Especially for a middle-class Muggle. And without any windows, it's a safe place to practice magic. Shame there's no fireplace." He returned to Draco. "I think I might like it here. It's out of the way. I can talk all I want and not disturb the guests."

"Oh!" Draco hadn't given any thought to displaying the picture. "All right. Do you want to see the rest of the house first, or shall I hang you now?"

"Are you planning on repainting?"

Draco looked to Alana.

"I like the color, a sort of... copper. It's nice. Warm, but not hard on the eyes."

"All right. Then, hang me now. Er... just there. Just behind the desk. And make sure you have me centered. I don't want to look as though you threw me up willy-nilly."

Alana helped Draco to position the painting and then he muttered a quick Permanent Sticking Charm.

"There," his grandfather proclaimed. "Excellent. Wonderful view." Draco noticed that his eyes did not take in the room, but glanced down at the surface of the desk; he made a note not to write any letters that were too personal at it. "Now, just mind you come and visit?"

"Of course, but I wouldn't expect it tonight."

"Fair enough. It's been a long day for all three of us. You two head up to bed. And do try and get _some_ sleep."

Draco gave the old man a grin and as they were shutting the door on him, his grandfather called a cheery, "Good night."

From the study, they proceeded on to the upstairs, primarily the two bedrooms, one for them and one, Draco stated, for a guest or for a child when one arrived, a comment Alana received with bounteous glee. Draco led her back down the steps in the foyer, with a slightly hesitant, "Well?"

"Oh, Draco! It's lovely! It's perfect! I really don't know what to say!"

"Then say nothing." His hand found her waist again, drew her in near him. They exchanged one pair of brief, kittenish smiles before Draco's lips closed over hers. This time, the passion, given free rein now that they were alone, was like an explosion of one of Fred and George's firecrackers, a frenzy of sparks and sound that drowned out all else. The need, the desire was so strong as to be a physical pain. It moved each to hunger for more, sent their lips scrabbling to prod the coals in search of a greater, more consuming fire. It sent them reeling, caused Draco's head to spin. He wondered briefly whether this kind of excitement was self-destructive, but found he didn't care if that was the case. Alana fell against the wall, her legs not wanting to support her any longer. Draco took up the charge, holding her up with the magnetic attraction of their mouths, with his hands around her waist, creeping up and down her back. And hers dragged at his neck, forced him nearer, more desperately. Her hands tangled in his blonde hair.

"You know," said a cool voice, "you _have_ a room now."


	2. Reunion

_A/N: Well, m'dears, as much as I'm pretty certain now I'm writing this story for my own amusement more than anything else, it _is_ Christmastime and this _has_ been called a Christmas-themed story, so: Happy Christmas! I managed to type up another chapter this year! Just, please, take the reminder that I am writing this for myself as much as all of you and do not judge my writing ability wholly on the content of this chapter in particular. Cheers! May all your holidays be bright!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_

Draco pulled away with a great effort and his head snapped round to view the intruder, his hand automatically reaching for his wand. Sirius Black stood there, regarding them with a rakish smile and a glitter in his usually deadened eyes.

"Sirius!" Draco cried, stunned, all thought of his wand forgotten. "How-- What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to meet your bride."

"Does Dumbledore know?" Draco asked anxiously.

"You and Harry--" Sirius shook his shaggy head and, though he lowered his lids to hide it, Draco saw his eyes darken dangerously, "you're always worrying about that. Don't you think I can look after myself?"

"We just don't want you back in Azkaban."

"Well, for what it's worth, I do have his permission as it happens. Not," Sirius added sullenly, "that I should need it."

"Draco," Alana whimpered, still in his embrace, though less fiercely so, clinging to him.

Draco's eyes wandered to catch hers, saw the fear written there, begging him to do something. "Oh," he said slowly, "you don't know...." He took her hands in his and implored her with his eyes fastened on hers, "Sirius _isn't_ a mass-murderer. He's innocent. He's a friend of mine."

"_Friend?_ Draco-- they found-- all they found of Pettigrew was his finger! All those Muggles!"

"Come, Alana. You've hung around me long enough. Has Wormtail never come up before now? Peter Pettigrew," he said in answer to her blank, uncomprehending stare. "He's alive-- or was last I heard. He's a Death Eater, and was then too. He killed all those people, and framed Sirius for it."

"It's true," Sirius offered from near the door.

Alana's eyes traveled from Draco's to Sirius' and back again.

"He's no more a Death Eater than I am, Gryff," Draco implored. "Probably even less so. Please don't kick him out. Please don't turn him in. He's Harry's godfather!"

Alana's eyes cut again away from Draco's earnest face to scan Sirius', familiar only from his wanted posters.

"I brought a gift," Sirius tried, raising his hand, in which he clasped the neck of a wine bottle.

Alana's eyes stayed on him for a minute, round and anxious, then she broke from Draco and staggered off through the portal to their right.

"I think that's a 'Come in,'" Draco interpreted, making after her.

Sirius followed him into the living room. Alana had made it to the kitchen and was walking slowly back toward them with three wineglasses in her trembling hands; the glass chinked like the tattoo of a swiftly beating heart. She put them down on the coffee table just as Sirius was sinking into one of the armchairs and Draco lowered himself onto the couch. He caught her by the hand and pulled her down beside him.

"I really didn't mean to scare you," Sirius said. "I thought this lummox would have explained."

"Your innocence is Order business as far as I'm concerned," Draco opined as he reached for the bottle and extracted his wand from his pocket. "And you didn't think to warn me you would be stopping by."

"I thought it would be a nice surprise," Sirius muttered as Draco applied his wand to the cork it went sailing out of the nozzle.

"And it is," Draco assured him, passing him a filled glass of the blood-dark liquor. "But some sort of advance notice would have been nice."

Sirius ducked his head, dropping his grey eyes to the surface of his drink; his shaggy locks fell forward to veil his face as he muttered, "Consider this your notice, then."

"It's a little late for that, mate," Draco laughed. "You're already sitting down."

Sirius did not raise his head, but sipped at the dark wine, until Alana managed to clear her throat, to regain control of her voice, and quaver, "If-- if you're innocent, why-- why isn't your name cleared?"

Sirius offered her a rueful smile. "Your own shock at the suggestion is your answer. Throw a fiery temper and too much pride into the mix and you have Fudge's reaction to the idea."

"He knows?"

Sirius' smiled widened at her obvious horror. "Yes, but he's a bit of a stubborn blockhead. I think I've earned the right to say that."

Draco nodded his agreement and let the affront go, but Alana whimpered, "But-- he saved Draco."

"For which I'm very grateful. Perhaps not as much as yourself," he allowed, "but still, I'm fond of the little bugger." He offered Draco a roguish grin, which was returned.

"He can't be all bad, then," Alana finished.

"No, but he's nearsighted. But," Sirius raised his face and his glass, "it's your wedding night! We're talking politics and we haven't even been properly introduced!"

"Oh!" Draco cried. "I forgot! Sirius-- this is Alana. Alana-- Sirius."

Alana held out a trembling hand to be shaken, willing to put aside her prejudices, her fears, Draco knew, for his sake and he appreciated the gesture more than he could have told her. It was just that open and willing spirit that had initiated their own acquaintance. Sirius, perhaps willfully, misinterpreted the gesture and took her hand in his, raised it to his lips and planted a kiss there.

Alana's eyes flew open with another flicker of fear and spun round to Draco, who after the initial flutter of shock and flare of jealousy, chuckled, catching the glitter in Sirius' eyes. "He's only being polite."

Sirius smiled. "Was it a nice wedding? I'm sorry I couldn't come, but, well." He spread his arms wide, indicating himself as the answer.

Alana took the stem of the wineglass Draco offered her. The liquid only leapt a little against the bowl in her shaking fingers. She tipped back a little bit and smiled up at Draco, who beamed back. "You can't expect an unbiased answer to that, can you?"

Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "No, I suppose not."

"Hang on!" Distance made the shout from down the hall faint. "SIRIUS BLACK?"

Sirius stiffened suddenly. "Who's that?" he asked in a whisper so quick his words slurred some. "Should I transform?"

"Your grandfather," Alana murmured to Draco, laying a hand on his rigid arm.

Draco relaxed. "I'm not used to talking portraits anymore...."

"Your grandfather? Haemmon Malfoy?"

"Erm... I don't actually know...."

Sirius stood up and strode down the hallway. Draco and Alana exchanged a quick glance. Draco shrugged and they followed him, hand in hand. Sirius peered into the study.

"Well, I'll be!" Draco's grandfather chuckled from above the desk. "I haven't seen you in _years_! Not since my last Christmas party, wasn't it? Of course," he added quickly, "I haven't seen anyone in years...."

"Mr. Malfoy." Sirius made a light bow, his dark, uneven locks falling down over his face. "What are you doing here? So far from your manor?"

"My worthless son has given me to my grandson and his new wife as a wedding present. I hope your parents know what they had in you.... Are they still alive?"

"No," Sirius said simply, bypassing the portrait's other wish. He turned from the doorway to Draco, "Your father was there?"

"Well, er, yeah... he was...."

"Is that my grandson? Come here, boy, come where I can see you. I can't come to you, you know."

"Is he coming to the party?" Sirius asked before Draco had gone more than a few steps toward complying with his grandfather's request.

"Party?" Draco said, stopping.

Sirius swore loudly. The portrait said, "Now really! Don't make me take back my compliment. I thought you were a good boy."

"It was supposed to be a surprise. Act surprised when Molly comes in? She'd kill me, she's been planning for weeks...."

"Mrs. Weasley's planning us a party?" Alana asked.

Sirius nodded. "People should be getting here soon. We were going to give you a bit to, you know, settle down. I got here early because, well, I wanted to meet the bride-- I mean, obviously I hadn't gotten the chance--"

"Sirius," Draco cut over him, smiling. "We'll act surprised. Molly doesn't have to know."

"She's got eyes that go right through you," Sirius sulked, wrapping his arms tight about himself.

"Actually, it's sort of nice to have some warning. Good thing your lady friend is a good housekeeper," Alana told Draco, who could no longer contain his laughter.

"Oh, she's good, Molly. Remember what she said to us tonight? Acting as though we would-- well--" he had the politesse to color "--before she got a chance to see us again and extracting promises about coming to the Burrow in the morning? I wonder why they never tried recruiting _her_ for the Auror office?"

At that moment there was a faint knock from the front door.

"Oh, that'll be her!"

Alana dashed off and Draco, applying the Malfoy mask of his training, followed. Alana reached the door first and wrenched it open.

"Mrs. Weasley!" she squealed, and Draco had to quirk. Like any proper Gryffindor, she couldn't do anything halfway. Another trait that had attracted him, drawn them together. "Mr. Weasley! George! What are you all doing here?"

"Ooh!" Molly shuffled across the threshold in her vibrant, knit shawl and wrapped her new daughter-in-law and Draco in a warm hug. "Surprise! You didn't think we'd all let you get away without celebrating with us?"

"Molly, it's quarter to one," Draco said.

"Yes, but what's a few hours of lost sleep between friends and family? Besides, we've had it all planned and suggested that people try and nap some this afternoon. _And_, before you start thinking about it, you're still expected for Christmas tomorrow morning."

"Right," George said, "because that's tradition--"

"And traditions are to be upheld," Draco recited. "Erm, except under special circumstances like love and family."

They all laughed and George, coming up behind the pair of them, muttered, "And thank you for getting Mum out tonight too, or we'd all be at home listening to Celestina Warbeck on the wireless. Sanity ought to be another excuse on that list."

Draco answered him with another laugh and then motioned them all toward the living room. "Well, come in then. When is the celebration to begin?"

Sirius was standing at the end of the side hallway, grinning at the party. "Oh," Molly said, "you're here already, are you, Sirius? I hope you didn't let anything slip." Her fisted hands flew to her wide hips and her dark eyes narrowed dangerously.

"He didn't breath a word," Draco lied quickly.

Molly softened and striding forward wrapped a very shocked Sirius in a hug as well. "Oh! isn't this all blessedly wonderful, Sirius!"

"Yeah," Sirius breathed, patting her awkwardly on the back.

George smiled at Draco. "Mum gets so emotional over these sort of things. You ought to have seen her at Ickle Ronniekin's wedding."

"I'd have loved to. If only they had waited just a month longer...."

"We'd have had a hard time fitting all of us, plus the priest in that hospital room," George told him soberly. "And it's not as if we could have guessed. I mean, we all thought...."

"You thought I'd be stuck in Azkaban forever, yeah. I did too.... Did Sirius get to come?"

George shook his head. "We had it up in the back field, like Bill's, but it was too exposed for Sirius, there was the priest to think of at least. Ron wanted to have the party at Grimmauld Place, but there were too many guests who couldn't come then. Hermione's parents, for one, and we couldn't have that."

"Poor man."

George nodded.

"So when _will_ everyone else get here?"

"And why wasn't Ginny with you?" Alana added.

"Ginny and Harry went off together after the wedding and I've no idea where the two rascals have gotten to," George grinned, his blue eyes sparkling. "Mum set the time for one, though, so they still might make it on time."

"Shouldn't you be keeping better tabs on your sister?" Draco asked, feeling his own flutter of fear for the well-being of the girl.

"I like Harry. Besides," George laughed, "he knows he's up against an entire family of redheads if he hurts one curly hair on her little head."

Draco chuckled, the anxiety quickly dissipating at that thought.

Mrs. Weasley came bustling up to them. "Oh, I do hope you two don't think we're intruding."

"Not at all, Mrs. Weasley," Alana was quick to reply.

"It should be fun, actually, Molly."

There was another knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley said, "Oh, more guests!" and hurried off to answer the door herself.

"She's really excited about this, isn't she?" Draco said to Mr. Weasley, who was laughing silently beside him.

"Molly loves company. You know that."

They heard Molly, from the vestibule, say loudly, "Bougainvillea! I'm so glad you could make it."

Draco glanced quickly toward Sirius, who, rolling his eyes and sighing, shrank into the form of a black, shaggy dog.

"What the--" Alana breathed.

Draco lay a quick hand on her arm and whispered, "He's an Animagus."

Sirius came to put his nose up to George's hand. George obligingly patted him on the head. "All right, Snuffles," he chuckled, "for now you can be mine. But I hope you come out of it soon and join the party, when there's enough people here to risk cover."

Sirius let his tongue fall out of his mouth.

Draco asked quickly, "How many people _are_ coming?"

But before George or Arthur could answer, Molly came in, chatting to Mrs. O'Toule, Alana's mother. And in Mrs. O'Toule's arms was--

"Harriet!" Draco cried.

The white cat fixed emerald eyes on him and blinked.

Mrs. O'Toule, laughing, came up to him and handed him the cat, which promptly began to purr in his arms and snuggle into the cradle they made. "I see you both still remember an old friend."

"You've kept her? All this time?"

"Alana asked me to. But if I'm to be living alone, then two cats are quite enough to be getting on with. Consider her your wedding present." Then, Mrs. O'Toule did something he could not have ever expected: she reached up and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, his arms being too occupied for hugs. "Welcome to the family, Draco."

"Thanks, Mrs. O'Toule." He hoped his broad grin betrayed all his feelings.

Mrs. O'Toule chuckled again as she turned to her daughter and wrapped her in a tight embrace, kissing her too.

Tonks let herself into the house with a call of "Hello?" and led Bill Weasley into the living room, where she greeted Draco and Alana both with a fierce hug-- Harriet leapt to the floor out of the way-- her face practically as bright as her bubblegum pink hair, and Bill clapped Draco on the back in a brother fashion.

Tonks grabbed both of Alana's hands with a cry of "Oh, it's so nice to have a sister! I always wanted-- We'll have to do all those sisterly things-- we'll do each other's hair and nails and share gossip!"

Alana laughed. "I don't think you really need me to do your hair, do you, Tonks? But that sounds wonderful! And we'll go out shopping? And go get lunches and coffee?"

"Of course!"

The two girls beamed.

"I thought I was getting a wife tonight, not that my cousin was getting a sister?" Draco jibed.

Tonks rolled her eyes and Alana stuck her tongue out briefly at him before falling safely back into his embrace. "Can't it be both?"

"Well yes," Draco assured her, "I just don't want to be forgotten in all this sisterly planning."

"Watch out, Draco," Bill advised. "Ginny and Hermione have been thick as thieves lately."

"I think Hermione's trying to set her up," George put in.

"Oh George!" Molly cried. "Bite your tongue or you'll jinx it!"

"Will do, Mum." George tipped Draco a wink.

"All my babies growing up and getting married and leaving me!" Molly cried. She threw herself on Draco, crying.

"Ah, Mum, don't," George said. "You've still got me. I haven't got anyone."

"You've got that blasted store of yours," Molly hiccoughed.

It was a joke that George smiled at. Molly had long since given in to the conclusion that her twin sons had been born businessmen, as much as she had protested the idea originally.

"I really ought to be getting back before Fleur starts to worry," Bill said, shaking Draco's and then Alana's hand. "Tonks and I just wanted to stop in for a few minutes. I'll see you both in the morning though?"

Draco nodded.

"Will Victoire and Cédric be coming?"

"I couldn't stop them going over Grandmum's house. They were at Grande-maman's this morning. Came back exhausted but still wanted to know when we were heading to the Burrow."

Tonks hugged them both tightly again. "Happy Christmas!" she said. "If you follow Harry out tomorrow he's coming to see Teddy."

"Thanks, Tonks," Draco grinned. "We'll keep it in mind."

The two of them waved and left, but as they opened the door, it was with a laugh and a joint cry of "Professors!"

"Yes, we're here," came a deep chuckle. "Are you both off?"

"Yes," Bill said soberly.

"Well, a happy Christmas to you then," the professor said warmly.

"Thanks, Professor."

"Happy Christmas!"

Albus Dumbledore, still in his lurid purple suit, strode into the living room, beaming at them all, and Severus Snape came slinking in his wake, wearing a fully black ensemble still. His dark eyes spun around the room, landed on Draco, and he nodded once.

Dumbledore meanwhile came forward and took Draco's and Alana's hand in his. "Ah, love," he breathed. "It does me good to see the two of you finally together." He tipped them a wink.

"You sound like you expected it," Draco said.

"I hoped. I admit I was impressed when I saw Miss O'Toule-- or shall I say Mrs. Malfoy now?-- go over to the Slytherin table to speak to you. There's not often much friendly interaction between Slytherin and Gryffindor." Here, Dumbledore glanced back at Snape, who would not meet his eye.

Alana reached up and placed a kiss on his bearded cheek.

"Oh! What's that for?"

"A thank you. For letting us figure it out on our own. And for looking after my husband."

Dumbledore waved a blackened hand at her. "I can't take full credit for that, Mrs. Malfoy. I think Professor Snape deserves some too. He was the one who kept an eye on Mr. Malfoy before his return to Hogwarts."

"Would you like a kiss too, Professor?"

George sniggered and Snape's head shot up, his dark eyes flying wide. "No!" He coughed slightly, "I mean, no thank you, Miss O'Toule."

George laughed more loudly and Snape turned glaring eyes on him.

"Good thing we're not at Hogwarts, George, or I think you'd have just lost Gryffindor a good--" he glanced at the Slytherin head "-- twenty points minimum." To Snape he said, "Are you staying for the party, Professor?"

"No," Snape mumbled. "The headmaster merely dragged me along to offer my--" the word seemed to taste sour to him "-- congratulations, and to wish you both a happy Christmas."

"Well, consider your messages passed then," Draco grinned. "I was glad you could come."

"I can go then?"

"I had hoped you could talk him into staying," Dumbledore said to Draco.

"No, Professor. I wouldn't do that to Professor Snape." He looked back at the Potions master, "Happy Christmas, sir."

Snape nodded again and hurried toward the door.

"Really," Molly murmured, "he might have stayed."

"He hates parties," said Draco.

"All the same."

Ron and Hermione came in next, Hermione getting to greet Alana as a sister for the first time. Then came Harry and Ginny, who was wearing Harry's lurid orange Canon scarf and Draco hoped was flushed only from the cold, though he said nothing to her. She dragged Alana away and the tide of people coming in soon became lost upon Draco.

"This party needs some music," George said from across the crowd. "Harry-- come help me with these!"

Harry disentangled himself from Ginny, who had had her arm wrapped around his as they both sat on the couch talking to Alana.

Mr. Weasley glanced up from his conversation with Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Are those wreckers?"

Harry passed Ginny his glass of wine to hold and Sirius, who had been lying in his Animagus form near Harry's feet, sniffed it eagerly. Ginny laughed and said, "If you wait a minute, Snuffles, I'm sure we can find you a bowl."

She excused herself from Alana, and Draco meandered away from Ron and Hermione to sit down beside his wife.

"Having fun, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Oh, Draco! This is so wonderful! We'll have to thank Mrs. Weasley. Where is she?"

"Over there with your mum."

Alana looked in the direction Draco had indicated with a nod and frowned slightly. "She doesn't know many people here particularly well."

Kari Ollivander dragged her date-- Draco still hadn't learned his name-- out into an open space near the kitchen as Harry, George, and Mr. Weasley got the music started ("Oh! I see!" Mr. Weasley cried in delight. "That little pin there reads the music? Where are the notes?") and they began to spin in slow circles.

"You reckon we should be taking her around and introducing her?"

Sirius sat up beside Draco and his ears pricked.

"What?" Draco asked him.

Sirius knocked his bear-like head against Draco's knee, then stood and trotted off for the kitchen.

"Guess that means 'follow me?' "

"Good guess," Alana murmured back. "Should I come too?"

Sirius paused, having overheard the question, and nodded once.

"Yes?"

They both got up and followed the black dog over into the kitchen. Once tucked into a corner, Sirius transformed back into a man.

"Oh, Sirius! Finally!" Ginny said from beside the counter, where she had been pouring a bowl full of wine. "It's been torture talking to you and not having you answer! Does this mean you'll be wanting a glass?"

"Hi, Ginny," Sirius grinned wearily. "Can't say about the glass yet, but thanks for the bowl. If you go back to the living room, I think my godson's looking for you."

Ginny looked at him, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm not trying to get rid of you," Sirius hastened. "But dog ears are good for eavesdropping."

Ginny's smile softened. "Oh, all right," she grinned. "Talk to you later, I hope." She crossed the room and at the entrance to the living room, paused to ask, "Are you two going to take a turn too?"

Draco grinned, exchanged a glance with Alana. "Maybe, Gin. Go find, Harry."

When Ginny had gone, Sirius turned back and locked his gray eyes on Alana's brown. "She knows me."

"What?"

"Your mother," Sirius said quietly, "knows me. God! I haven't seen Bougainvillea in years! I never put it together that you were her daughter. Can I see her? Do you think she'd mind?"

"Mind! Mr. Black--"

"Please-- Sirius," he corrected.

"Fine. Sirius, you're a m-- your reputation sort of--"

"I know. But if you explained to her?"

"I dunno, Sirius," Draco said, glancing back toward the spinning couple of dancers.

"It's only Order members here, anyway, except her and the Ollivanders. And I've got sense. We could keep out of the way. And I could turn back to a dog if anyone looks at me funny."

"That last bit doesn't sound much like sense," Draco said darkly.

"Please?"

"How does she know you?" Alana asked.

Sirius let out a bark-like laugh. Draco looked worriedly over his shoulder to make sure it hadn't been recognized, that neither Kari nor her date was peeking around into the kitchen. "We dated once, well, more than once. We couldn't make it work. But it seemed to make sense. That way James could take Lily and we could tag along without things being odd. Double-date."

"You and Mrs. O'Toule. Really?"

Sirius nodded. "She was one of Lily's best friends. Why does this come as such a surprise?"

"What do you reckon?" Draco said, turning to Alana, taking his hand in hers. "I don't know your mum well, but she wasn't keen on me for a good long while after--"

"I--" Alana looked over at Sirius. "I guess I could... breach the idea to her.... But--"

"If things go wrong, you'll get out of here? Immediately?" Draco cut in.

Sirius blew out a breath that ruffled his too long, shaggy locks. "Fine," he said. "Just let me see her."

"Only if she agrees."

"Shall I wait here, then, in the kitchen for you?" He looked at Draco directly, a stare that was half a challenge. "In my Animagus form for _safety_."

"Oh, shove it, Sirius. You know it's just 'cause we care about you. Do you want company, Gryff? Or shall I, as an Auror-in-training, remain here with the wanted criminal."

Sirius glared at him.

Alana caught the glance too. "Erm, maybe you had better come with me."

"He wouldn't do anything to me," Draco said as he took Alana's hand and they began to move toward the exit. Draco glanced back over his shoulder to see Sirius' eyes softening.

"Touché," he murmured.

They passed the dancers as they made their way back across the sitting room. Ginny looked around with a broad grin as they passed, her cheek pressed up against Harry's shoulder. He had his eyes closed and didn't notice them, which Draco thought, might be for the best. He was likely to be embarrassed at being caught in this position. Ron and George were eyeing the dancing pair from across the room. Ron looked caught between reproof and hope, George was merely beaming.

Alana and Draco approached Mrs. O'Toule, where she stood, it seemed, listening to Molly prattling. Draco cleared his throat quietly as they approached and the two women looked about. Alana went straight to her mother to embrace her.

"Oh!" Molly cried. "Well, my dears, are you enjoying yourselves?"

Draco grinned at her. "It really is a fun party, Molly. Thank you."

"Well, we weren't about to let you get away without a celebration."

"Mum," Alana cut in, pushing away from her just a little to free her face, "there's someone here who wants to mee-- Well, actually, I guess you've already met, but--"

"But it's been awhile and he thinks a reintroduction might be more decorous than coming up to you himself," Draco supplied.

"Oh really," Mrs. O'Toule huffed, her eyes rolling. Draco had to bite back a laugh. It was very much the reaction Alana would have given such an announcement. "Who would I know who cares about decorum?"

"He's just trying to be respectful."

"He's been away for a long while, Mum, and well--"

"He _is_ an old friend of yours, or he assures us so. One of James Potter's friends."

"Remus? I thought-- Molly said he married your pink-haired cousin-- Tonks was her name?-- and she said she was going home."

"Erm, no, not Lupin."

"Did he have other friends?" Mrs. O'Toule wondered. "Except of course poor Peter. Are you sure?"

"Draco?" Molly cut in, her brown eyes piercing. "_Are_ you sure?"

"He wants to see her, Molly."

"Yes, but a lot of what that man wants--" She broke off her eyes flashing. Mrs. O'Toule was looking back and forth between her and Draco, wholly confused.

"Come on, Mum. Come meet him." Alana grabbed her hand and began to lead her off.

Draco lingered only long enough to mutter, "Give him a break, Molly. It's practically all Order members here anyway."

Molly was swelling and Draco had sense enough to duck away before the explosion. Nonetheless Molly yelled after him, "You tell him I'm not going to come and rescue him if he gets caught."

Draco only looked back over his shoulder sadly. He knew it wasn't true, really, that Molly would indeed defend Sirius if the Ministry came to question her about it.

"Now, Mum," Alana was saying in a hush, "I want you to just try and remain calm, okay? This might come as a bit of a shock, but he's a good friend of Draco's, a true friend, and one he met after... well, I think he met him after he met me, so I'm quite certain he's okay."

"Alana--"

But Mrs. O'Toule broke off as she reached the entry to the kitchen, Alana at her side, and Draco at their heels.

"Hi, 'Villiaea," Sirius said quietly.


End file.
